I’ve known David forever, it seems. They tell me he used to bring studio dubs over to our house in Brentwood when I was still in the crib and play them for me to see if I got excited. That’s how he made his first fortune.

I guess those were the days he was begging Cher to marry him before he ‘fessed up about being gay (like I’m sure CHER couldn’t tell) and went on to pretty much own everything and know everybody and make some impressive enemies and be worth like $6-7 billion. Yes, billion.

Money isn’t everything, however. Though still at heart just a homespun gay Brooklyn Jew, David has yet to find the right boy. An orthodontist, say, or a shipping mogul. “Look outside the box, David,” I keep telling him. Meaning outside of Hollywood. But it’s all about not marrying Keanu. (Really. They didn't. It was a hoax or something.) And now . . . ?

Geffen’s looking to buy the New York Times’ holdings, terrifying straight male WASPS everywhere. Like the CCLR.

“It’s bad enough working for a Jew. But a GAY Jew?” The bar there at the Club is raking it in, particularly after about eight o’clock every night, from the hardcores.

David Geffen? Rupert Murdoch? News moguls?

Like Cher, I LOVE gay Jews. And vice versa. The Rupert Murdochs? Not so much.